


General O’Neill’s Dog Works for Popcorn

by sg_wonderland



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 15:31:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5461712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sg_wonderland/pseuds/sg_wonderland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a boy and his dog. General fluffiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	General O’Neill’s Dog Works for Popcorn

“No, Jack! N.O. What part of that do you not understand?” With the cordless phone stuck firmly under my chin, I open my back door, thoughtlessly scratching my chest. “I am not dog-sitting this weekend.”

“Come on, Daniel, who else am I gonna ask? Besides, Sparky likes you.”

“Sparky jumps up on me and licks my face every time he sees me,” I point out.

“Daniel,” Jack’s voice takes on a condescending tone. “From a dog lover to a non-dog owner, I have to tell you that is a sign of affection.”

“Really?” I just thought it was a way of marking me as the enemy, you know, so he could scent me out the next time and piss on me.

“Trust me, Sparky adores you. Just like I do.” The tone now becomes somewhat wheedling.

“You hate my damn guts and everyone knows it.”

“Only on Tuesdays. Come on, Daniel. All you have to do is pack up some stuff and spend the weekend at my house. I’m desperate. I’m gonna be in meetings all weekend and I can’t make it home. You don’t want the dog to starve to death, do you?”

“What about that kennel you send him to? Your neighbors?”

“The kennel is full, I tried that. And the neighbors…well, Sparky isn’t the most popular boy in the neighborhood since he starting eating azaleas.”

Despite myself, I find that I have wandered back into the house and started gathering up stuff. “Couldn’t Sparky just…?" I stop myself, looking around.

Jack, damn him, knows just where I’m going. “So you wouldn’t mind Sparky at your house, getting up close and personal with all your antiques? Besides, you’re off duty for at least four more days with...”

I interrupt him. “Don’t say it, I’m warning you. I do not have poison ivy!”

“Daniel, Dr. Brightman said she could connect the dots on your ass and make a stargate, and I’m not even gonna repeat what she said about the seventh chevron.”

I feel my face turn bright red. “She did not!” At least, I hope she didn’t.

“Okay, I lied about the chevron. Just do this for me, Daniel, and I’ll owe you big time.”

“You already owe me big time.”

“Says you.”

“Says me. I drove you home last week when your truck wouldn’t start.” This is a very, very sore spot for Jack, because he adores and worships his truck. And because he was forced to ride in the four-door sedan that I am currently driving while my Jeep is getting a new transmission. He pulled his cap down low and prayed that no one saw him, because, in his word, only women and wimps drive automatics. Real men, he informed me, warming to his topic, drive a stick. I am not even going to touch the phallic symbolism of big trucks with a stick protruding rigidly up from the floor and topped by a big, round ball, and bit my tongue when he started talking about the horsepower of the engine and something about zero to sixty in four seconds. Then he started going on about thrust, I think I blacked out right about there.

“Daniel, please?”

I’m gonna do it and we both know it, but because I can, I make him do the dance. Beg some more, promise me the moon until I sigh hugely and reluctantly give in.

“Great! There’s food at the house, so you don’t have to shop. Sparky’s gonna be so glad to see you.” Now that he’s got what he wants, he hangs up on me. Bastard.

 

*

An hour later finds me pulling into his drive. Despite his assurances that he has food at the house, I stopped at the grocery store on my way over. Contrary to popular belief, I was neither born at night nor was I born last night. His idea of food begins with pizza and ends with Guinness and does not include the word ‘vegetable’. Because I know Jack’s truck is not in there, I unlock the front door, intending to go through the house and manually open the garage door. 

Unfortunately, Sparky hears me and leaps the moment I open the door. The end result is me flat on my back on the floor with a dog of indeterminate peerage writhing all over me. “Yes, Sparky, I’m very glad to see you too, can you let me up please?” Much like his owner, actions have a far greater effect on him than words, so I shove him aside, wondering what in the hell has Jack been feeding him ‘cause I swear he outweighs me now, and crawl to my feet, hand on my now bruised back. I stumble to the garage, with Sparky’s enthusiastic assistance and park my car in Jack’s spot. This seems to sit well with Sparky, as he also tries to help me unload my car. I promise him the sun, the moon and a nice bone if he will just leave me the hell alone while I try to get situated. His attention span is along the lines of his owner’s; he hears but I’m not certain anything sticks.

I finally manage to get everything into the house, the groceries in the kitchen and my gear on the steps to take up to the guest room. Opening the refrigerator, I mentally pat myself on the back for the grocery stop. There is Guinness, Guinness and even more Guinness. Some lunch meat of questionable age and variety. Three different kinds of cheese, but I suspect they’ve been here since I stayed over last. With a sigh, I drag a garbage bag out and clean out the fridge before inserting my stuff in there. Cheese, fresh this time. The makings of spaghetti, salad stuff, breakfast stuff and my own coffee. I don’t trust Jack one inch when he swore there was my favorite blend here. Although I do spy a familiar looking sack there in the back. Opening it up, I take a sniff in rhapsody. God, I could just eat the beans raw!

So I grind the beans, Jack bitched about my getting him a grinder for Christmas one year, but I do notice he has started buying beans and grinding his own now. The nastiest Daniel-snit he ever got, outside of work, was when he once tried to palm instant coffee off on me, swearing he didn’t see the difference. I helpfully offered to throw some hops and yeast in water and call it beer. I then gave him a long protracted lecture, at the end of which his eyes glazed over and he readily signed a ‘no-instant’ pledge written on a napkin, which Sam and Teal’c witnessed before I had it framed and gave it to him for his birthday that year. He said he would have preferred the leaf-blower he had been hinting for. I got him that, too, but I made him sweat the whole day, thinking the framed note was all he was getting. 

Sam and Teal’c thought it was so funny, they told Janet, Ferretti and all the Marines who just happened to be in the commissary at the time. This resulted in several hand-written napkin notes mysteriously showing up on Jack’s door. One declaring his office ‘an archaeology-free zone’, I thought was especially hilarious and wish I’d thought of it myself. I suspect Janet penned that missive, as it seemed to have a certain zinginess.

I grab a Guinness while the coffee is brewing and open the French doors so Sparky can go do what dogs do best. After he pees on his favorite tree, he runs around the yard like something is after him, before collapsing on my feet. “Get off, you dog.” I order him as I pull myself free and head for the coffeemaker. “So, is it your dinnertime yet?” Not knowing how frequently dogs should be fed and watered, I pick up the phone to call Jack, only to be told he is in a meeting and do I want to disturb him? I don’t think so, I reply and hang up.

I grab my laptop and fire it up. When all else fails, try the ‘Net. I surf around and find that dogs of Sparky’s size are fed twice a day and if you leave water out for them, they will get it when they’re thirsty. Okay, I’m gonna assume Sparky hasn’t been fed, so I dig out the bag of dog food, which excites him to no end and proceed to read the instructions on the bag. Which tell me the same thing I just spent half an hour trying to learn on the ‘Net. I measure out the assigned amount and leave him to it.

I have had absolutely no experience with dogs, or pets of any kind other than fish. My parents had enough to do to keep up with the hellion that I was to even think of getting a dog. Some of my foster families had dogs, none of which I got acquainted with, because I was, well, to tell the truth, I was afraid of them.

There were no pets on Abydos, all animals were there for a specific purpose, either for conveyance or dinner. I did get up close and personal with a mastidge and the encounter did nothing to warm me to the idea of animals. I also had friends with cats, but those encounters also ended badly. The girls loved me, the cats hated me and I ended up in the emergency room, strapped to an oxygen mask.

So until Jack got Sparky from the pound, I hadn’t actually been close to a dog. I really don’t think he likes me, despite what Jack says. I think he’d be all over anyone whom he thinks might feed him and let him out to play.

I grab a cup of coffee and an apple and settle back down to my laptop. Sparky, however, has finished dining by now and obviously wants to play or something, since he just dropped a leash on the couch beside me. “Okay, I take that to mean we walk now, right?” When he hears the word walk, he bounds to the front door and sits patiently waiting for the stupid human to buy a clue. Which I do, digging a jacket out of Jack’s closet, hey, I wondered where that had gone to. Pulling it on, I find the gloves I also lost and pull them on. It might not be cold to anyone else but my body is still frequently in the Egyptian temperature zone and I get cold. I snap the leash on Sparky, grab my keys and open the front door.

I barely keep my feet as he charges down the front walk and turns left at the street. Okay, so I assume one of us knows where we are going. Jack lives in a nice neighborhood and I am actually starting to enjoy the walk when a kid on a bike charges down his drive. I manage, just barely, to keep Sparky from knocking the kid down. “Sparky, stop.”

“Hey, you’re not Jack.” The kid looks at me accusingly, ready to phone the animal police and report a dog-napping.

“No, I’m Daniel, I’m dog sitting for him this weekend.” 

This seems to placate the little tyke and he bends over to pet Sparky. “Man, you’re lucky, my folks won’t let me have a dog. My little brother’s got allergies.”

“Me, too.” I sympathize with the kid brother. “I just don’t happen to be allergic to dogs.” The kid gets off his bike and shoves his helmet off. And long blonde hair falls to his...er..her waist. She proceeds to wrestle Sparky to the ground, forgetting that I’m holding the leash. I end up entangled in the leash, sprawled on the ground.

“Susan! What are you doing?”

“Mom, this is Daniel, he’s dog sitting Sparky for Jack.”

I give the mother a nice smile. I hope I don’t look like a predator but no parent can be too sure. “Sparky wanted to stop, sorry.”

She smiles back when she recognizes the dog currently mauling her daughter. “Susan’s been after me to get her a dog, but Douglas has...”

“But, Mom, Daniel said he has allergies too, but he’s not allergic to dogs. So can we get a dog? Please?”

I throw her a remorseful look and mouth, “sorry” before I drag myself up and start to take Sparky away.

“Uh, Daniel, is it?”

“Yes.”

“I take it you’re not a dog owner?”

“No, I’m not, Jack conned me into this.”

“Well,” she seems hesitant, “if you’re taking Sparky to the park, you might want to get a couple of things.”

See, now this is helpful. “What do I need?”

“Some rubber gloves and zip-lock bags.” I know I have a look of total confusion on my face. “For when Sparky...” she bites her lip.

“For when he shits.” Susan offers with a twinkle in her eyes.

I don’t even hear her mother’s reprimand because my mind has gone totally blank. I’m supposed to walk behind him and...and...pick it up? “Oh, hell, no.” Susan chortles and her mother gives me the evil eye. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.” I give the leash a jerk. “Come on, Sparky, if you’re gonna do that, you’re gonna do it in your own yard where Jack will have to clean it up.” Sparky has other ideas, he wants to go west but I am more highly motivated than he is. We’re going east, right back to Jack’s house, where Sparky is going in the yard and I vow not to step off the deck into that grass ever again.

I put Sparky in the yard; thankful Jack fenced it in for just such a purpose. Then I wash my face and hands well and start dinner. The sauce needs to simmer for a long time so the tomatoes, garlic, onions, hamburger and sausage can blend. I hate canned spaghetti sauce and never use it. I don’t know if the smell is wafting outside or what but Sparky decides he likes it better indoors. “Okay,” I tell him as I let him in, “but you are not getting any spaghetti, I don’t care how much you beg. That can’t be good for you.” He seems to agree for now, but I know when dinner is ready, I’m in for a fight. 

“I’m gonna do some work now, so can you be a good boy and be quiet while I do?” He also seems to agree to that, watching warily as I make myself comfortable on the couch with the laptop. Since I spend almost as much time here as I do my own home, I don’t hesitate to kick off my shoes and curl up in the couch. And he jumps up beside me and proceeds to wrap himself around my left foot. “Okay,” I tell him, “you can stay, but no biting.”

 

*

I wake up an hour later. I must have unconsciously moved my laptop because it is under the coffee table. And Sparky is sprawled across me like he owns me. “Get up, Sparky.” He immediately leaps down while I hurry to check on my sauce. Still simmering, I turn it down; thanking my lucky stars it didn’t scorch. Sparky follows me with what I can only describe as a hopeful look on his face. “Oh, no, you can just take that pitiful look off your face, I am not giving you any spaghetti. I don’t care how you beg.”

I put the pasta on to boil, pop the bread into the oven, open a bottle of wine and make a salad. I know I’m cooking way too much for one person, but I can always freeze the rest for Jack. Even though it’s just me and Sparky, I set the table with the good dishes that Jack doesn’t like to use, mainly because he doesn’t want to wash them afterwards. Hand wash, because they are definitely not dishwasher-safe. Lighting the candles, I fix my plate and sit down to eat, trying to ignore the big brown eyes staring at me. “I told you no and no is what I mean.” I try to be stern, but the damned dog comes and lays his head on my thigh and just stares up at me. “Oh, dammit, how am I supposed to resist that?” I throw my napkin down and proceed to fix him a plate of spaghetti, not one of the good plates, of course. I just set it on the floor and let him have at it; I figure I’ll clean the floor up later. Sparky digs in with delight and I do the same.

*

Sparky has decided that I am now his bestest friend in the whole world. He loved the spaghetti, licked his plate clean and looked like he wanted seconds. I held fast and didn’t give him any more, just turned him loose in the back yard while I cleaned up. He wanders back in and flops down in front of the fireplace. “Okay, so I’m supposed to light a fire now?” He rolls his head over and looks at me with what seems suspiciously like a smile. So I light a fire, turn the lights out and sit down on the floor, just enjoying the quiet. Sparky immediately rolls himself over and insinuates his head under my hand. Getting the message, I stroke his head. His fur is soft and doesn’t smell at all doggy. I’m assuming he gets pretty regular baths, hope I’m not on the docket for that. “You know what would be really nice? Popcorn. You like popcorn?” He doesn’t answer as I head for the kitchen and the popcorn popper. Jack has one of the old fashioned ones that you can use over the fireplace. It’s just a basket with handles; you put the corn in and shake it over the fire.

I like my popcorn with butter so I melt some in the microwave before I head back to the fireplace. Sparky seems to know what’s coming since he sits patiently and waits for the corn to start popping. I fix us both a bowl, no butter on his, though. And grab the rest of the wine before I sprawl in front of the fireplace. Sparky seems to want to play and I finally figure out what he wants. I start throwing kernels in the air and he catches them. We play there until I am out of wine and we are both out of popcorn. “Okay, bedtime, Sparky. Out one more time?” He dashes to the back door and I let him out while I shut things up for the night. “Okay,” I let him back in and lock the door behind us. “Where do you sleep? Or should I even ask?” I figure I’m going to end up with a companion for the night, whether I want it or not.

I take a shower and when I enter the bedroom, I’m not surprised to find Sparky has his side of the bed staked out already. “I hope you don’t snore.” I pull the covers over me and turn out the lights.

*

The next thing I know, there is a cold, wet nose jammed firmly in the small of my back, right where my T-shirt has ridden up. “You know, that’s a helluva wake up call.” He immediately raises his head and proceeds to offer me the dog equivalent of a sponge bath. “Get down, or heel, or whatever it takes to get you to stop.” None of those words affect him greatly. “Need to go out?” That hits just the right chord, he’s away in a flash. I follow him down and let him out, enjoying the morning. 

I wonder if Sparky likes to run. Jack always acts surprised that I run. Does he think I got this bod by spending all my time in the library? I remind him quite frequently that I am required to pass the same physical tests he is and besides, I like to run. It clears my head. While Sparky is playing, I dash back upstairs and exchange my jammies for running gear. Reluctantly, I tuck rubber gloves and zip-lock bags in my pocket and pray that Sparky has done all the business he intends to for awhile.

I open the back door and he charges through the house. I swear the dog is psychic, when I get to the front door, he is patiently waiting for me. I clip his leash on, grab my keys and we head out.

*

 

Sparky is in pretty good shape, he keeps up with me for the three miles we ran. But we’re both panting pretty heavily when I get the front door unlocked, only to hear the phone. “Get that, will ya?” He just blinks at me before collapsing on the floor. “Hello?” I breathe heavily into the phone.

“Daniel?”

“Yeah, morning, Jack.”

“Interrupt something, did I?” His voice is snide.

“Yeah, well, I told her I wasn’t in the mood this early in the morning, but you know how women are. You’ve got some very, very friendly neighbors.”

“Oh, very funny, Daniel. If it gets out you’ve been banging the neighbors, I’ll never get invited to another block party.”

“No, they’ll be inviting me instead.” I walk around, if I sit now, I’ll just stiffen up. “I met one of your neighbors yesterday.”

“Which one?”

“Didn’t get her name, but she’s got a little girl named Susan.”

“Heartbreaker blue eyes, long blonde hair? Brother named Douglas?”

“That would be her, yes. Actually, Sparky kind of introduced us.”

“Already using him to pick up women? Mollie’s a nice woman. Divorced. Schoolteacher. You could do worse. Marry her and you could move to the neighborhood and we could carpool every day.”

“I don’t think so. I kinda cussed in front of her, so I’m probably on the short list.”

“Daniel, Daniel,” I know he’s shaking his head, leaning back in his chair, feet up on the desk. “You don’t let them see your bad habits until after the wedding.”

“That must be what I’m doing wrong.”

“So, how’s Sparky?”

“He’s fine. Shall I take the muzzle off so you can talk to him?” I hear him ‘oof’ through the phone and I have a vision of where his coffee just landed. “Um, sorry.”

“That’s okay, I needed to change uniforms anyway. I may be home tonight but it’ll be late. So stay over tonight, just in case, okay?”

“That’s fine. Sparky and I are getting along just fine. I didn’t realize he likes coffee as much as I do.” I hear him growl as I hang the phone up.

*

We pass a pretty uneventful day. I tried to work, but I had forgotten to take the antihistamines Dr. Brightman had given me yesterday, so today they pretty much knock me back. So I spend a lot of time investigating the texture of the couch cushions and Sparky volunteers to help me in the experiment. For dinner, I put the leftover spaghetti into a casserole dish and bake it with some cheese on top. I’ve downed about half of the bottle of wine with dinner before I remember the allergy meds. Oops, sorry about that, Sparky. Looks like I’m not gonna be very good company for you. I manage to clean up the kitchen, let him out one last time and stumble through a shower before I fall into bed. Sparky doesn’t even wait for an invitation, just hops right up with me.

*

“That’s just so damn cute, wish I had a camera.”

I roll over to face the voice. “Jack?”

“Daniel, what are you doing in bed so early?”

I squint at the clock, but can’t bring it into focus. “Antihistamines. Wine. Bad combination, don’t advise it myself.”

“I think it says that right on the pill bottle.” He gently thumps me on the back of my head before he gets up. “Come on, Sparky, let’s leave the boy alone.” I don’t feel any movement from his side of the bed. Jack’s voice sharpens. “Sparky, come on.”

“Leave him.” I feel Sparky lay his head on my back. “Night, Jack.”

 

*

I figured that Sparky would desert me for Jack, but when I wake up, very late the next morning, he is right there with me. “Morning, Sparky. And stop with the bath, will ya?” I shove him off and head to the bathroom, before heading downstairs. “Morning, Jack.”

“Technically, it’s afternoon, I almost called out the Marines to heave you out of bed, Daniel. If you mix meds and wine again, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“Didn’t do it intentionally,” I plop down on the couch beside him, drawing my feet up under me, laying my head on the arm. “Forgot them the first day, took them the second day, and then forgot I took them until I was way into a bottle of wine.” Sparky trots over to try to climb up in the couch with us, landing on Jack’s Sunday paper. “Read me my horoscope, will ya?”

“Find out if it’s a good day to steal man’s best friend?” 

I raise my head to look at him over the dog whose head is currently residing on my thigh. “Are you jealous?”

“Of you? And Sparky? I don’t think so. I just didn’t think you would get on so well.”

I settle back down in my corner of the couch. “Me, neither. He’s the first dog I ever, you know, actually got to know.”

“You should get a dog, Daniel.” His voice is gentle.

“Maybe.” It’s the best I can do.

*

I park way down the street, not surprised that I’m the last one here. Jack is having his semi-annual spring barbecue and nearly everyone at the SGC shows up. He said that Hammond was going to try to fly back from Washington; I hope so, I miss him a lot more than I ever thought possible. It’s been a rough spring for us; we lost Jacob and Catherine within weeks of each other.

I don’t even knock on the front door, just open it and walk through, heading for the sliding glass door. The noise hits me as soon as I step out and several people shout, “Daniel!” I think they’ve spent too much time on TVLand, watching reruns of ‘Cheers’. I just wave at them and start down the steps when I am overwhelmed by a charging dog, taking me down. I end up flat on my back with Sparky enthusiastically licking my face. “Yes, I love you, too, now get up, you stupid dog.” Sparky is not at all insulted but he does move enough for Teal’c to haul me to my feet.

“Daniel Jackson, I was not aware that O’Neill’s dog had formed such a close bond with you.”

Rubbing my back, where I impacted one of the steps, I follow him to the refreshments. “I dog-sat for Jack back in the winter. Sparky remembers me, that’s all.”

“I believe Sparky does not simply remember you, I believe he retains a certain affection for you.”

“Oh, that’s because of the popcorn.” I grab a bag of popcorn from the table. “Sparky, popcorn.” He immediately deserts Jack for me, sitting obediently waiting for his treat. “You know what you have to do, don’t you?” I toss the popcorn in the air and he snatches it from the air. We play like that until the popcorn is all gone and I realize we have quite an audience. Sam and the CIA woman, Kerry something, have curiously speculative looks on their faces. Flushing at the attention, I pet Sparky and praise him for being such a good boy.

“I never knew he could do that trick.” Jack presses a beer into my hand.

“Really? I thought you taught him that one.”

“Nope, that’s all yours, Daniel.” He taps his beer against mine. “You really have to get a dog; you know that, don’t you?”

I look over at Sparky and I swear, he winks at me. “Nah, I think I’ll just borrow yours.”


End file.
